


A drop in the ocean -- Small one-shot ficlets

by orphan_account



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/F, F/M, Gen, M/M, Masturbation, Multi, Porn With Plot, relationships added with updates, tags added with updates
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-13
Updated: 2019-02-13
Packaged: 2019-10-27 17:44:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17771330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Series of small fictlets which when added will have varying ratings and types ranging from porn with plot to litlte pieces of prose I like.





	A drop in the ocean -- Small one-shot ficlets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Satin is a med student who fancies his tutor and is willing to do anything to spend more time with him.

I push a loose curl behind my ear which feels hot as I blush. My eyes move desperately over the papers in front of me as if they have an answer, any clue to what I want to say. They don’t. They’re just a collection of mad scribbling’s that I thought would allow me to avoid the small talk in the waiting room with the others.

“Umm… not really. I’ve been sitting in on bedside visits and in the clinics but I’ve never really had the opportunity.” The words are half mumbled. I never was a good liar.

“It’s one of the most likely ones to come up on your exam, I’m afraid.” She leans back in the chair a few inches and she thinks things over for moment before motioning considerately towards me with her hands. “Dr. Snow is in the labs still, if you want to ask him to sign you off. We’ll be using the same models for the test so it’s best for you to familiarise yourself with them.”

 _He is in the labs_ , I think _; I know that because I’ve seen him in there already._

I can’t hide my smile. My knee bounces off the floor gently and at a pace, it must have been doing it for some time but I’ve only just noticed. It moves so much so I’m worried it’ll bang against her desk. “Yes Ma’am- I mean, I’ll go over and see him about it now.”

 

* * *

 

I check my watch and peek through the lecture curtains again, only to see that he’s still teaching like he was before I went to the office. For the seventh time, I pace the wall and can feel my satchel swing with my momentum, the occasional friction of its handle against my clothes echoes quietly down the empty hallway.

I feel devious, scandalous, and wrong. I know I should turn back, that it’s not the best thought through plan, but there’s something that drives me to continue. Something deep and animalistic, something I can’t even put any deep thought into because I know I’ll chicken out.

 _It’s not too late,_ one half of me reasons. _She didn’t write anything down; nobody would even know if you didn’t show up. They wouldn’t even ask. And if they did you could tell them you forgot._

The other half, he’s just whispering: _Shut-up, shut-up, shut-up. I need this._

The door opens and a crowd begins to potter out, some of the female students faces are beet-red and thoroughly scandalised. As I push past them and through the double doors I can see why.

The female pelvic learning models are out; they glisten dimly on the wheeled platforms, a thin sheen of wetness clings to the fronts. The whiteboard nearby, neatly slotted in front of the encircled chairs reads Inspection and anatomy; it was one of the classes from the semester before.

By the model Dr. Snow rips the paper towels as he nods and speaks softly. I can hear the deepness of his Northern accent as I skirt the edge of the room trying not to interrupt the conversation. His sleeves are rolled up his arms to reveal the width of his forearms.

He’s talking to a younger girl who I don’t recognise, but how familiar she is with him makes me dislike her already, the way she touches his arm as she says goodbye, the way she loudly calls him “Jon” before she leaves.

She gives me a wide smile that doesn’t seem authentic and I try to screw up my face into one in reply as she passes. _Bitch._

Dr. Snow cleans the models down gently, his gloved fingers running the paper along the crevices of the labia and the perineum to get all of the lubricant off before he pulls the unit out and makes it disappear into the darkness of one of the storage bags.

He looks up and acknowledges me with a smile before he speaks.

“I don’t suppose you wanted any of this, Satin?” He asks, almost boyishly.

“I covered that last year with you when you were running Gynae sessions. I thought you had stopped teaching that?”

“I did, it’s just I keep getting asked for lessons.” He smiles, as innocent as a new born baby. “I can never tell anyone no.”

 _Stupid, sexy Jon Snow._ I almost sigh in frustration.

He zips the bag gently and then carries the heavy model effortlessly across the room and back to its storage. I open the door for him and he thanks me as he slides the container across its ledge and with the other Gynaecological equipment.

“So, do you want anything in particular?” He says, scratching at designer stubble.

“I’m sorry?”

“From me? I’m assuming you’re not just here to help me pack the vaginas away.”

“Yeah… No…”, I stammer in uncommittal before breathing deeply and taking the plunge, “I was just wondering if you would be willing to sign me off for some training before my exams?”

“Do you know what you’re missing?”

“Not really. I’ve got the list at my dorm somewhere. But I know a few things I need.”

He points out to the shelves surrounding us and all the training models on them. His hand gestures in a wave towards them all. “Pick your poison. I’ve got enough time to do something with you today; anything else will have to be tomorrow though. I’ll send you an e-mail later with my schedule and we’ll find some time to squeeze.”

I look across the equipment sorted by specialty and wonder how I should take this. I hadn’t thought this far. I only wanted to talk to him again but he’s already fitting me in.

The penises stand out first, stacked near each other, then the catheterisation kits that always make me cross my legs whenever I’m trying to put them in. Then I find what I’m looking for, at the back and in their bags. My hand points limply towards the bag without wanting to say what they are.

He looks up to them and then back to me and gives me a questioning look. “You sure your not down for this? I thought I covered it last week?”

He had covered it, and I had been present, more so than I had ever felt in my life. But I didn’t want to tell him that.

“I just want to make sure I’m ready for my exams.” I tell him, trying to convince myself more than I am him.

He shrugs and moves a penis to the side before he lumbers the bag down and shoulders the strap for it.

We make our way back into the lab where he deposits it on a bench unstraps the fastenings so that he can get inside it and pull the kit out.

The silicon skin looks pale under the lab light.

He gets the last of the pieces out and slots them into position before he begins to lecture. His blue gloves run along the top of the model and leave a small streak of moisture from the old model along the outside as he identifies the different components. “So this is the rectal model, it has the obvious parts, but we can put different types of fake prostates through the back for examination. We do prostate based examination for cancer identification or if we're looking for inflammation or anything. You've likely covered all this when you did anatomy.”

I nod and all but take a gulp and he disappears out of site for a moment as I focus on the model, watch the curve of it sit unmoving on the bench. The small hole looks slightly intimidating.

He reappears again with a box of gloves and some small sachets. “Scrub in.” He tells me and points to rubbing the alcohol on the side. “You don’t want your hands smelling of this stuff later.”

I nod again because I cannot summon any words to speak. The room feels hot but I know that it’s the same tepid temperature the lab always is.

The gloves go on and I move hesitantly closer to the model before he passes me the sachets. One of which he has already torn. “You may want to use three or four with this one. With patients you probably won’t need as much but the silicon is a lot more ridged than a patient would be.”

I squeeze the lube out and onto my fingers before I place them along the rim of the model and try to work it around the edges. What he says makes me wonder inquisitively about how he knew what the real thing must feel like, and then I remember he’s a doctor after all and the childish fantasies of him and some faceless phantom disappear as quickly as they came. Though the embers which they summon still smoulder warmly within me.

I tear another open and do the same again, then again until the skin doesn’t resist as much and the movement of my fingers across it smacks with a wetness that’s almost too salacious. He nods and throws the packets into the waste bin for me.

“Okay, now try to enter at a slight angle to make up for the way the model is skewed.” He folds his arms and stands a step to the side to give me greater range. His scrutiny makes me crumble.

I work my finger into the gap and it slides in with a graphic sound that drives deep to my core. I want to look back to him to make sure I’m doing it right but I cannot work up the courage to look him in the eye.

My finger delves a little further but the cold firmness of the inside rubber is too unusual a sensation for me to allow myself to go any further so I plot instead. I have it all planned out in my head. The fluttering eye lashes, the desperate whimper as I turn and ask for help, all those things I know I’d never have the courage to ever really do but enjoy plotting in my head. He’s too quick for me to even enjoy the thought of it. His larger hands go to gently guide mine deeper, they’re so hot that he feels like a second sun.

“You needn’t be so delicate, this stuff can put up with a lot of punishment.” He laughs under his breath as he talks and I can hear it just over my shoulder. I can feel the heat of that breath on my skin and I almost shudder under the weight of it. _Be cool, be cool, be cool,_ I tell myself.

My other hand clenches around the edge of the mannequin on instinct and Dr. Snow steps back to the side again, his hand still near my wrist and pushing me inwards deeper. The sensation of movement knocks my pelvis against the bench in a way I know he doesn’t mean to do, in a way that brings to my attention a certain growing problem.

“Can you feel it?” He asks and I can feel something but probably not what he’s asking for. I try to concentrate but the blood isn’t in my hand its somewhere else.

“Y-Yeah I feel something.” I lie in a mumble softly in an almost gasp. “Is it enlarged?” I guess.

His hands leave mine and I’m lost without the feeling. “That’s great. Really good job.”

I pull my finger out and there’s a sound that makes me breath deeply, the movement of my chest almost painful from how hard I am.

He’s already behind the model and trying to switch the extensions around before I can say anything.

He looks back at me with his big grey eyes, with all the wonder that those teachers who so enjoy seeing people learn have. “Now lets try a few more. See if you can do this one without my help.”

I shuffle slightly and try to adjust myself without it seeming to obvious. I’m grateful beyond belief that I chose to wear my baggy jumper and jacket today, grateful that I didn’t take them off before we started.

“Sorry.” I say, abruptly. There’s something in me that knows I won’t last another examination. I rush out so abruptly that I don’t even take my gloves off. “I’m uh- I’ve just  got to run back to my dorm before the next class. I think I forgot my bag.” _Stupid._ I scream in my head.

I give one look back at him before I lose sight, his face is bewildered and I’m sure mine is as beet-red as all of the girls were. Redder even.

I can’t make it back to the dorms. Before I know it I’m sprinting into a bathroom cubicle and tugging my jeans harshly to free myself from them, my gloved fingers so unused to undoing them fuss messily with the buttons. I know I’m going to have to change my clothes but it doesn’t even matter. Nothing matters but this. Everything else in the world is nothing and nowhere and the only thing that exists is the wet hand at the base of my cock, the smell of the lubricant and the memory of his touch, his breath and it is not long until I have lost myself in them.

I’m breathing heavily once I’m done, so much so that I can hear my breath echo off of the cubicle walls.

I lazily take my gloves off and throw them into the trash can. My chest still rises and falls raggedly and I watch the thick mess roped across my woolly jumper and all the way almost up to the neck. Sighing, I try to pull the thing over my head without getting any in my hair. Then I sit and refresh my e-mails several times, wondering what we could be doing tomorrow.


End file.
